


deductive reasoning

by clarion_call



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Gen, M/M, more of a gen fic really because hockey husbands is real and true, not porn sorry, posting fic to get the good mojo going
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-24
Updated: 2019-04-24
Packaged: 2020-01-25 17:04:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18578797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clarion_call/pseuds/clarion_call
Summary: “Has Ovi talked to you in Russian lately?" Andre asks, frowning. “Because Papa hasn’t spoken Swedish to me or Christian since last week.”





	deductive reasoning

**Author's Note:**

> this is very silly and written as part of the larger effort to spark that playoffs magic. thanks to riley for the beta, and the caps nut hut in general for being awesome

Zhenya is pulling on his chest protector before practice when he feels a body settle next to him on the bench. He glances up to find Andre, face a moue of contemplation. Or maybe confusion. It’s hard to tell with him sometimes.

“Has Ovi talked to you in the last few days?” Andre speaks without looking at him, eyes on their captain in his stall across the room. 

“Yes?” Zhenya squints, trying to figure out if this is a joke. “He not talking to you?”

“No, I mean, in Russian,” Andre huffs. “Has he talked to you in Russian lately?”

The affirmative is on the tip of Zhenya’s tongue until he realizes that no, actually, during the game yesterday and practice the day before that, Sasha had stuck to English. It wasn’t that odd, but usually with him and Dima he’d pepper in little things in their shared mother tongue. 

“Why you ask?” Zhenya deflects instead of answering. Andre turns to look at him, expression uncharacteristically solemn.

“Papa hasn’t spoken Swedish to me or Christian since last week.” 

“OK?” Zhenya raises his eyebrows and waits for the punchline. Andre gives him a look that’s probably intended to be grave but just makes it seem like he’s gotten something in his eye. 

“Papa is leading the teams in goals?” Andre offers. “Ovi is passing more than he’s shooting?”

Zhenya tilts his head, listening. It wasn’t the usual, but it was working. 

“Yesterday after the game Ovi said ‘I’m Backstrom,’” Andre hisses, eyebrows scrunching.

Zhenya leans back in his stall and crosses his arms over his chest. Across the room Sasha has finished lacing up his skates. Zhenya can’t help but notice that they’re white instead of the usual yellow. 

Ah. So that’s what Andre was getting at. 

“You think Sasha is Backy.” 

“Yes!” Andre says, looking relieved. “And Papa is Ovi.” 

They both glance back over at Sasha and find him looking in their direction. Zhenya gives a little waves and catches his eye, but instead of the grin or rude gesture that typically constitutes their non-verbal interactions, Sasha simply nods at him close-mouthed.

Zhenya narrows his eyes and nods as he turns back to Andre. “How?”

The brunette throws his hands up. “Magic? A curse? Christian and I thought you maybe have this in Russia?”

Zhenya scoffs. “You think we have magic in Russia?”

“I don’t know. It’s why I ask.” 

“No, nothing I know about. You ask Dima?”

Andre grimaces. “Yes, and he tell me he turn me into a chicken if I keep being silly.”

He gratefully accepts the gift that Dima’s given him. “Well, yes, we have chicken magic in Russia, but no crazy body swap magic.”

He’s pleased with the flabbergasted look that earns him before Andre’s face returns to an expression of resolve.

“Chicken magic won’t help us with this.”

“Don’t know, they very tasty,” Zhenya quips. “Maybe this all just coincidence. Playoffs very weird.” 

He doesn’t sound that convincing even to himself. Andre throws him a petulant look and leans closer. 

“What if it’s because of us? Because of the team?” Andre says in a quiet voice. “We don’t play very good and so the hockey gods switch them.” 

Zhenya scratches at the patchy hair on his chin. “To make us better? Or to punish us?”

“Both maybe.” 

Andre heaves a sigh. They both watch as Nicke enters the room with some freshly trimmed sticks. He isn’t wearing a shirt. 

How the fuck had Zhenya not noticed this earlier?

-/-/- 

Zhenya sidles up to Braden as practice is wrapping up, adopting his best casual lean and draping an arm over one of his goal posts. The goalie tolerates it for a moment before swatting at him without taking his eyes off the ice ahead of him.

“What do you want, Kuzy?”

“You notice anything different with Ovi? Way he shoot?” Out of everyone on the team, Braden is probably the best equipped to see if anyone is playing differently. 

The cage obscures most of Braden’s face, but Zhenya can see his mouth pull tight. “Other than it being awful to try and stop?”

He snags a nearby puck and flips it onto the blade of his stick, watching Braden’s eyes track it behind his mask. 

“What about Backy? He’s shooting a lot recently.”

Braden sighs and stands up as he realizes that Zhenya isn’t going to go away anytime soon. He pushes his mask up off his face and frowns at him, reaching back for his water bottle. Zhenya’s known him long enough to be able to distinguish between his disgruntled frown and his thoughtful frown. Luckily it’s the latter. 

“I know they’re trying to mix up the set plays,” Braden says before taking a sip of water. 

Zhenya presses closer, plants his stick and props his chin on it. “So you don’t like they act like each other little bit?”

Braden tilts his head, considering. “They’ve been working together a long time. Easy enough to pick up on each other’s play.”

Of course Braden would approach this rationally. Zhenya decides to cut to the chase.

“Baby Swedes think they swap.” 

“Swapped positions?”

“No, bodies.”

Braden pauses at that, water in mid-air. “You think Ovi and Nicky swapped bodies?”

“Maybe. I investigate.” Zhenya snags the water bottle from Braden and pours some into his mouth. “I don’t fall for things easy as Burk. He believe in chicken magic.”

He watches as Braden eyebrows go through an impressive array of movements. His mouth forms various shapes before he settles on a response.

“What’s your investigation turned up so far?”

Zhenya hands the bottle back to Braden and shifts to lean one forearm on his stick as he ticks off points. 

“Sasha passing and Backy shooting. Sasha not speaking Russian. Backy not speaking Swedish. Backy hugging everybody and not wearing a shirt. Sasha wearing a shirt and not hugging everybody and wearing white laces. Also, Sasha say he’s Backstrom.” He gives up on counting to create exaggerated air quotes for his last statement. 

Braden tugs at his beard as he listens. “You think he was asking for help?”

Zhenya shrugs. “Why else he say it?”

“So what are you going to do?” 

“Burk think we don’t play so good,” Zhenya confesses. “And so hockey gods curse them. And if we play better they maybe change back.”

Braden nods. “Can’t hurt either way.”

Smiling, Zhenya claps him on the shoulder. He can always count on Braden. “Good. We play better, things back to normal.” 

He turns to skate away and Braden snags his elbow. “But what exactly is chicken magic?”

“Is thing I make up to scare Burk,” he tosses over his shoulder as he strides away. He hears Braden chuckle behind him.

-/-/- 

He corners TJ and Tom during warm-ups the next day.

“Sasha and Backy swap bodies, so we have to play good to get them back.” 

Tom looks a little bewildered from where he’s stretching down on the ice, but TJ simply knocks shoulders with him and says, “Sure thing, babe.”

Zhenya is a little taken aback. “You don’t think I’m crazy?”

Circling slowly around him and Tom, TJ shakes his head. “Ovi hasn’t let me check his cup for a week, and Backy’s been slapping my ass before every game. It’s pretty clear what’s happened.” 

“Andre says it’s because we play bad. And if we play better, they go back.” Zhenya wants to hear what they think about the theory.

TJ swats at Tom playfully as he stands up. “Sure. Or maybe they just need to bone.” 

Tom’s expression morphs from bewilderment to absolute shock. Zhenya is intrigued.

“Tell me more.”

“When you smash, you touch junk but also you touch souls.” TJ makes a series of obscene gestures. “So maybe when their souls touch, afterwards they go back into the right body.”

“That’s really fucking romantic, dude.” Tom has recovered from his shock and is now looking at TJ with open awe.

“What can I say. I’m a class act.” TJ flips some imaginary hair over his shoulder. 

“So either we play better or we have them fuck,” Zhenya muses.

“Babe, don’t say it like that,” TJ tsks him as though he didn’t just use the word ‘bone’ unironically. He draws Zhenya closer with an arm around his shoulder. “We have them make love.”

Tom’s awe is slowly reverting to terror. He glances over his shoulder, looking over to where Backy is kneeling next to Sasha on the ice. When he turns back, Zhenya meets his eyes and raises his brows. “You see?”

Tom glances between him and TJ a few times. 

“The other day before the game Backy bit Andre,” Tom confesses. “Like, on the arm.”

“Just like Sasha do,” Zhenya completes his thought. 

“I thought it was a little weird, but it totally freaked Andre out.” That made sense. Probably what prompted Andre to come ask him for help the next day. 

“Also, I haven’t seen Alex with his dick out in forever,” TJ notes offhandedly. 

They all nod. It was true. Sasha had worn more clothing in the past week than he had for most of last summer. 

Their brain trust gets broken up as the coaches pull them aside for some last minute strategizing, but Zhenya feels like he made some progress in his investigation. 

Unfortunately, the game is an absolute shit show. They’re finally getting some shots on goal, but every attempt he makes either pings off the posts or goes wide. If the hockey gods decided they weren’t playing great before, they’re probably furious now. He really doesn't want to wake up in Andre’s body tomorrow. Braden he wouldn't mind, though. He’s always been in awe of his beard and thinks he’d make a fucking amazing goalie. 

Things somehow go even farther downhill. TJ gets taken out in the third, slamming into the boards after being pushed from behind by an opposing player. He skates off the ice clutching his shoulder and Zhenya blanches. Looks like the gods already exacted their punishment. 

Zhenya sneaks into the trainer’s room after the game and finds TJ propped up on a bed, swathed in ice packs. His head rolls towards Zhenya when the door closes, pupils the size of plates.

“They give you the good drugs, huh.” Zhenya hovers, afraid touching him might jar something. 

“Only the best for me, babe.” TJ’s vowels are broader than usual, his sibilants edging towards slurring.

“I’m sorry this happen to you. I keep trying to fix all this.”

“You can do it, Kuzy. I believe in you.”

Zhenya nods, feeling strangely tearful as one of the trainers returns and glares at Zhenya. He blows a kiss at TJ and leaves.

“Make them bump uglies,” TJ calls out after him. “For me, Kuzy. For me.”

-/-/- 

Zhenya snags Andre as they’re getting on the plane back to DC, pulling him over to sit with him in the back.

“You still think we play good, it fix everything?” 

Andre looks despondent. “Maybe. Hard to tell since we didn’t.”

“TJ has idea. Said maybe it not just about playing. Maybe about sex.

Andre’s brow furrows. “He thinks they need to get laid?”

“With each other, yes.” Zhenya tries to remember how TJ had put it. “Something about how souls touch when dicks touch.” 

Nodding, Andre leans back in his seat and looks up at the ceiling. 

“We should talk to them. Tell them we think we’ve figured it out,” he says after a moment. 

“About them being each other or about them banging?” 

“Both? If they haven’t figured out by themselves by now, then they must need our help.” Andre pulls out his phone, typing something out. “Let’s ask them to brunch tomorrow. Say we need to talk about team stuff.”

Zhenya’s phone vibrates and he pulls it out to see he’s been added to a group chat with just the four of them. Elipses pop up under Andre’s request to get a meal and some advice. A few seconds pass before they get an affirmative response from Sasha’s number. 

Zhenya cranes his head towards the front of the plane where their captain and his alternate are sitting. Backy’s face is illuminated by the phone screen, Sasha’s head barely visible on his shoulder. 

What would these two idiots do without their help.

-/-/- 

Zhenya picks Andre up on the way to the restaurant the next day. They make an attempt to plan what they’re going to say once they arrive, but Andre keeps getting distracted about whether he’s going to get pancakes or waffles.

They arrive to find Backy and Sasha already seated, cradling mugs in a booth by a window. Zhenya waits until they order to broach the subject since he knows Andre won’t be able to focus until he makes up his mind.

The server walks about away and Zhenya squares his shoulders. 

“We know.” 

That earns them a pair of raised eyebrows. He waits for Andre to follow his lead like they planned, but the Swede is busy doctoring his coffee. Zhenya kicks him under the table. 

“We know what’s going on and we want to help,” Andre half-reiterates.

Backy and Sasha exchange a glance. 

“And what exactly is going on?” Backy puts down his coffee. 

Zhenya gestures in their general direction. “You and Sasha.”

They both stare back at him blankly. He nudges Andre again, who points accusingly at Backy.

“You don’t speak Swedish since last week and don’t wear pants and bite me.” It wasn’t quite the approach they’d agreed on in the car, but Zhenya appreciates his passion. Andre’s finger shifts over to Sasha. “And you pass and don’t speak Russian and always have a shirt on.”

“It’s obvious,” Zhenya sums up. “Something happen, make you swap bodies.”

Sasha looks like he’s about to say something, but Backy reaches over and places a hand on his arm. 

“That’s exactly what’s going on,” Backy says. One of his eyes is twitching a little. He must be really overworked between the playoffs and the body switching thing.

“Papa,” Andre says, reaching out to clasp Sasha’s hands around his mug. “We’re going to fix this.”

Sasha releases mug to grasp Andre’s hands in his own. 

“Thank you, my son,” he intones. “How you think we fix?”

“At first we think if we play better hockey gods put you back,” Andre explains. 

“And we do that on Saturday,” Zhenya cuts in. “But also TJ think you should bang.”

Sasha barks out a laugh. “TJ thinks everyone should bang.”

“But especially you two.” Andre wheedles. “Because when you make love, then your souls will touch and be able to go back to the right body.”

Zhenya wasn’t expecting quite so florid an explanation. His face must show his surprise because Andre huffs.

“Haven’t you ready any romance novels?”

“Is that why you kept using words like ‘turgid’ and ‘virile’ when you first moved here?” Backy seems genuinely intrigued. Zhenya hates that they’re going to have to pause this conversation and get back to the pressing matter of Sasha and Backy being in the wrong bodies. The sacrifices he makes for this team. 

“OK, so now you two go touch souls, see if it fix this.” Zhenya insists. 

“That won’t work,” Backy says, picking up his mug again.

“Why not?” Zhenya feels indignant. “You have to at least try it. For TJ’s sake.” 

Backy sips primly at his coffee, raising a brow in Sasha’s direction, who looks back at them gleefully. 

“It won’t work because we already try it,” Sasha waggles his eyebrows at them. “Lots.” 

“Lots?” Andre looks equally impressed and terrified. 

“Hard to quantify.” Backy glances over at Sasha, eyes crinkling. “But at least five years worth of trying. Give or take.”

Andre chokes into his coffee and Zhenya half-heartedly slaps his back. He’s starting to come to a terrible conclusion.

“You never swap. You just act like it for fun.”

Andre’s face falls and he pulls his hands free from Sasha’s as though he just besmirched his honor. 

“You assholes!” Whatever filial emotions Andre had just been experiencing seem to have vaporized. “We were really worried!” 

Sasha looks a little crestfallen. “We didn’t mean to make you worry, Burk.”

“We didn’t plan it,” Backy consoles him. “At first it was just what happened. Then it was fun to see how everyone responded.”

“Just like X-Files,” Sasha interjects excitedly, slinging his arm around Backy’s shoulders. “Everyone looking at video and reading quotes. Thinking something crazy happen.”

“Including us, you dicks,” Andre hisses at them. 

Zhenya pinches his nose. “So you act like each other for a week – dress differently, speak differently, play differently – for a fucking joke. 

“Not our fault you fall for our incredible prank,” Sasha says. 

Zhenya restrains himself from reaching across the table to strangle him. He doesn’t want to get banned from a good brunch place. Again. Instead he takes a deep breath.

“So you not in each other’s bodies. And you sleep together for years.” 

“Not our fault that you’re idiots.” Backy’s lip quirk for a moment. He removes his chin from his palm and instead grasps the hand that Sasha has stretched across his shoulders. “At least you’re good at hockey.”

They’re both smirking at him across the table. He’s tempted to just get up and leave Andre to deal with this mess, but the server comes to deliver their food. His waffles don’t deserve to suffer because of Sasha and Backy’s terrible parenting. 

As Andre is stuffing his face, Zhenya leans over to whisper in his ear. 

“Now Dima and I for sure turn you into a chicken.”

-/-/- 

During the next game, Backy gets two more goals. After the second one he catapults himself into the air to hug Devante. It’s the type of celly they see often enough on the ice, but not from Backy. Zhenya makes a face at him when they return to the bench.

They’re up three by the second intermission. In the third, Sasha snags a power play goal and then stand motionless, arms outstretched as he waits for his teammates to come and join him in the unusually subdued celly. Tom throws Zhenya a look that borders on confusion, but he just shakes his head back at him. 

They win the game handily, and Braden finally gets the shutout he deserves. Reporters cluster around Backy after his four point night. One of them asks him about Sasha’s claim to “be Backstrom.”

“I heard about that,” Backy replies, teeth flashing. “That’s probably not the case.”

Behind the scrum, Zhenya uses both hands to flip him off while Sasha laughs at them across the room. He’s never listening to Andre ever again.

**Author's Note:**

> for those who might want to conduct their own investigation, the receipts
> 
> https://www.nbcsports.com/washington/capitals/two-games-playoffs-alex-ovechkin-and-nicklas-backstrom-are-enjoying-role-reversal
> 
> https://www.washingtonpost.com/sports/capitals/understated-as-always-nicklas-backstrom-delivers-for-capitals-in-game-5/2019/04/21/6fda2f94-63ad-11e9-bfad-36a7eb36cb60_story.html?utm_term=.0fe4d6ad717f
> 
> https://www.nhl.com/capitals/video/postgame-locker-room--april-13/t-277437440/c-67709903
> 
> http://thornescratch.tumblr.com/post/184171440213/alex-ovechkin-being-asked-if-he-takes-pride-in
> 
> http://csykora.tumblr.com/post/184331645801/i-regret-to-inform-you-its-official-nicklas


End file.
